


Good to You

by viajeramyra



Series: The Jealous Andrés [1]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Heist husbands, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Palermo deserves love, jealous!Andres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23145403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: The hairs on the back of his neck rose, eyes narrowed as he continued staring at Martín, who was otherwise preoccupied. “I’m good at training animals, you know?”He felt the sting in his hand as the alcohol rushed into his open wound before he had even realized what happened. He glanced down to the shards of glass in front of him on the table, a few pieces covered in drops of blood, while others had fallen onto his lap. The heat in his face distracted him briefly from the pain in his hand, but he told himself that was merely the sun beating down on him. He tried not to look to his right, knowing that despite the rest of the group laughing, Sergio was only looking on trying to assess what had just happened. It didn’t miss his ears that he didn’t hear Martín’s laugh, but he didn’t want to know why that was either.----In which a very jealous Andrés is forced to face the full depth of his feelings for his best friend.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Professor | Sergio Marquina, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín
Series: The Jealous Andrés [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924594
Comments: 19
Kudos: 282





	Good to You

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost, I would like to thank theawesomedashing on tumblr for their post that made me jump on wanting to write jealous Andres. Secondly, I would like to thank everyone who keeps reading my never ending nonsense for making me want to continue to write more nonsense. 
> 
> Also, to all the kind people who have left me nice words/ideas for prompts. I am working on several things at the moment, and trying to do Berlin and Palermo justice in my writing. I never want to write them ooc, so it may take me a while to get around to everything I want to write. 
> 
> But, without any further ado:

Andrés sat tall in his seat, nodding along to the stories the rest of the gang told as they enjoyed their dinner. Sergio had insisted they try to remain as professional as possible during their classes, but there was no denying everyone had bonded so much during the heist at the Mint. Always somewhere in the back of their minds, they wondered about how the others were doing. No news had meant good news for so long. Now, they were gathered again as if nothing had changed. As if the last two and a half years had never happened, and they had yet to get away with the biggest heist Spain had ever seen. 

He had to admit, being here felt like he was being wrapped in the comfort of a thick blanket. There was warmth, a familiarity in being consumed in the training for another heist. He thought back to the beautiful beaches of Southern Thailand, the grand house overlooking the beach. Retirement had suited him well, but his fingers were constantly itching for some sort of entertainment. 

He had always known he could be good at anything he set his mind to, anything that he worked for. But, he had always been too restless to truly pursue anything that didn’t come naturally. And, after Sergio’s father had passed away, he never felt like he’d had much of a choice. He didn’t regret a single decision he’d ever made, but it had left him forever wanting to chase the next thrill. For two years, memories of the Mint and barely escaping with his life had been enough to make him want to slow down. It had taken them months to feel like they could stop looking over their shoulder, taking turns awake at night to make sure no one was following them. 

He had the comfort of all the money he could ever need, the never ending sound of waves crashing against the shore, the greenery surrounding his tropical home, but somehow, something was still missing. 

He glanced down the table at Martín, laughing and smiling with the rest of the group. Martín’s face glowed with his smile, his olive tan suiting his features well. Focusing on Martín enjoying himself was enough to break him of his thoughts and drag his focus back to the present moment. The fleeting idea to take Martín back to their private study crossed his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to as his friend looked back at him, his smile wider as they looked at each other. 

Nairobi and Helsinki took their turn to recount their tales, fun nights spent partying and embracing the world around them. He looked around the table, everyone else fully engaged in the story or otherwise relaxed. His legs stretched out under the table, his back slanted as he attempted to do the same. Lazilly, he reached for his wine glass and took a sip, his head tilted just enough to watch as Helsinki rose at the other end of the table, lifting his shirt to show off the tattoo painted across his stomach. 

“Hey big man.” Andrés’ shoulders tensed, as he heard Martín start to speak. His entire hand wrapped around the bowl of his wine glass, as though he might drop it. “Want me to train your bear?” Everyone else had started to look away, several biting their lips as Martín continued to speak. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, eyes narrowed as he continued staring at Martín, who was otherwise preoccupied. “I’m good at training animals, you know?” 

He felt the sting in his hand as the alcohol rushed into his open wound before he had even realized what happened. He glanced down to the shards of glass in front of him on the table, a few pieces covered in drops of blood, while others had fallen onto his lap. The heat in his face distracted him briefly from the pain in his hand, but he told himself that was merely the sun beating down on him. He tried not to look to his right, knowing that despite the rest of the group laughing, Sergio was only looking on trying to assess what had just happened. It didn’t miss his ears that he didn’t hear Martín’s laugh, but he didn’t want to know why that was either. 

He pushed away from the table with his uninjured hand, quick to get to his feet. “Excuse me,” he grumbled, as he stomped away from the table and up the stairs leading back into the monastery. 

He washed his hands repetitively, the rush of water taking away some of the sting. He glanced over his hand carefully. The cuts were only superficial, enough to make him bleed but nothing to be concerned about. He’d be able to wrap it up for a few hours to stop the bleeding and prevent any infection, but otherwise he could return to normal. He glanced outside from the window, as Raquel, Sergio, and Monica had excused themselves from the table to take care of the dishes. From his spot, he could see Martín’s eyes, fixated once again on Helsinki. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn his friend’s top teeth had firmly sunk into his bottom lip. 

But of course he knew better. He’d gone over this time and time again with Martín, after all. Martín deserved better, and never went after men worth his time. Andrés always made sure to point that out to him, out of concern his friend would settle something subpar. 

Still, he found himself walking further away from the group outside, and into their private study. He found something to wrap his hand in, before pulling out a bottle from his private stash. He leaned back in one of the arm chairs, annoyed that his face still felt warm from the rush of embarrassment he felt. He exhaled heavily, trying to release the tension gathering between his shoulders and the back of his head. In a few hours, they wouldn’t even remember what had happened. A little time alone to swallow his pride would serve him well.

The soft knock on his door told him otherwise. 

“Go away,” he growled, sinking further into the plush armchair. 

He flicked away a small ball of stuffing that popped out of it, and longed for his newer bed back at home. The monastery was old and falling apart, something that used to offer his artistic soul solace. Now? He felt the bile rising in the back of his throat as he thought about it. 

“Andrés,” Sergio said, as he slowly opened the door despite his protests, “stop acting like a child,” he scolded. He closed the door behind him, locking it shut before he came to stand in front of his brother. “How is your hand?” 

The concern evident in the way his brother’s eyes searched his features. He knew Sergio searched people, read them like an encyclopedia to try and get every aspect of who they were etched into his brain. It was what had made their heist so successful, and why he didn’t doubt they would be able to do it again. However, in that moment, it only served to piss him off. He didn’t want to be open to Sergio, to let him get inside of his head. He wanted a private moment to overcome his embarrassment, and the surging need to empty the contents of his stomach overwhelming his other senses. 

“I am capable of taking care of a few scratches,” he said with a roll of his eyes, his teeth clenched tightly. “I don’t need a nurse, Sergio.” 

Sergio simply rolled his eyes, grabbing Andrés’ wrist in his hand. He carefully removed the bandages his brother had sloppily applied, before he took a small bottle of ointment out of his pocket. “Then, perhaps we should talk about what is really bothering you.” 

“Nothing is bothering me,” he replied. He snarled, mostly at himself, for the haste of his answer. Sergio didn’t bother to look up at him, instead continuing to apply the necessary treatment. He held Andrés’ hand up closer to his face, carefully searching each line for any small pieces of glass that may have been left behind. 

“We both know that’s not true,” he replied, simply. Normally, he wouldn’t have pushed Andrés so much on this subject. Why bother after ten years, after all? Especially given that the last two years, his brother and his best friend had been confined to a small island just the two of them. He figured if they were going to finally make something out of what was obvious to everyone else, they would have done it by now. Instead, he had left a rather confused Martín down at the dinner table, while he was dealing with an overly pissed off Andrés himself. 

“This place just brings up a lot of old memories, of my last marriage to Tatiana. To the last time I had any hope in love,” Andrés said, as he took his hand back from his brother. The other brought the large bottle to his lips, as he gulped whiskey he knew deserved to be slowly enjoyed. 

Sergio nodded in response, his right hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think you’re letting that bother you. You never have.” 

Andrés noticed the impatience in the way his brother had slumped forward into his hand. He wanted to throw him out of the room, but was afraid to be alone at the same time. Perhaps he wasn’t as oblivious to what was bothering him as much as he pretended to be. He thought back to the way Helsinki’s cheeks had flushed an almost rosey pink as Martín finished his overly suggestive flirt. Back on the island, Martín’s attentions were constantly focused on Andrés. They did everything together. Every moment from sunup to sundown was spent together, laughing, drinking, enjoying the warmth. They had fallen into a routine, and it had been ripped away from them since Sergio called. 

If he was honest with himself, he missed the attention. 

“It was never my intent to interrupt your life, Andrés. I apologize for that, but this plan needs the both of you. We cannot send this team into the Bank without you, without Martín. Your leadership and his knowledge of the plan are crucial to its success,” he continued. “I need to know you will be able to work together.” 

The vein in Andrés’ forehead tightened, and he was certain it could be seen. He clenched his fist, hating that the underlying meaning of Sergio’s words came as a consequence of anything that would transpire between Helsinki and Martín. The acid in his stomach continued to build up as a result of it. He looked down in his lap, the steam rising off him. 

Of course he was capable of working alongside Martín. They had done it for many years, the inseparable bond between them lasting even when his marriages had not. It was Martín who had made sure he had gotten out of prison the few times he had been arrested. It was Martín who was there for him when he had to be tested to ensure he didn’t have his mother’s disease. It was Martín who stood by his side as the rest of the gang tried to turn on him. It was Martín who had run back through the tunnel at the Mint, ever insistent that if Andrés was staying behind, so was he. They were a package deal, and if none of his wives could ever come between them, no man who tried to enter Martín’s life would threaten it either. 

“He is my hermanito. This is _our_ plan, Sergio,” he scowlded back, weakly finding his voice once more.

“Is he just that, Andrés?” Sergio challenged, as he stood up. His features had tensed from impatience, to an almost certain level of rage. He started to pace back and forth in front of where Andrés sat, his right palm covering his face. “Is he just your brother?” 

“Get to the point, Sergio,” he demanded, as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You clearly think you know something that I don’t, and I don’t want to play a game of twenty questions.” 

Sergio stopped in his tracks, bringing his palms together in front of his chest. He looked Andrés dead in the eye, looking more serious than he ever had before. “Are you too much of a traditionalist to accept that you are bisexual,” he said, with a sigh. As if he already knew the answer to that was no, because he did. He already knew that the opinions of others besides Sergio and Martín had truly never affected Andrés for long, had never stopped him from doing whatever he wanted to do. 

Sergio’s features softened, a look of pity in his eyes as he carefully licked his lips, before dragging his bottom lip back with his teeth, hesitant. He opened his mouth once more, the carefully selected words finally asking, “or are you just too afraid the only man you’ve ever loved might not love you back?” 

Andrés finally heard the sound of glass shattering all around him, as he started to breath heavily. He shook his head in defiance. He was _not_ afraid of pursuing whatever he wanted. He had gotten back up, after each and every divorce, and chased down what he thought was new love. He had tried, and gotten hurt time and time again for it. Whether he could be blamed for it, or whether it was the fault of women who assumed him to be something he was not, he had still pursued love. He had been romantic, and charming, and ever so persistent that he could feel normal. That the beating heart inside of his chest was capable of being able to feel love, to feel more than just a burning, irrational passion. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said through gritted teeth. He felt the sharp pain from grinding them, but he didn’t care. It felt better than the irrational pounding of blood rushing through his veins, his head spinning out of control. 

“Andrés, you have actively destroyed every relationship Martín has ever pursued. You’ve covered it up under _good intentions_ , but they’re just selfish,” Sergio sighed, reaching up to rub the tension in his temple. “I want to believe you’re not just an asshole, because you want Martín chasing after you like a dog called to its master. That you’re scared.” 

Between a string of curses, Andrés’ trembling lips whispered, “I’m not afraid.” He tried to slow the cold feeling washing over him, making him feel as if his world were crumbling down around him. No one had ever forced him to face what he had been holding back for years. 

And if he was honest with himself, he had been running from it for years. Of course the one relationship in his life he put all of his energy towards was the one he had with Martín. He had known for a long time he no longer looked at his friend the same way he looked at Sergio. He had felt things around Martín, from a level of vulnerable trust to his highest moments of bliss, that no one else had brought out in him. No matter what mistakes he made, no matter what he did wrong, Martín had never cowered around him. 

And now Martín had been flirting with Helsinki, who was actually a decent person worthy of his time. 

And it was enough to eat Andrés up on the inside. 

“Then _do_ something, Andrés. Stop moping and _do_ something,” Sergio pleaded, moving to lightly squeeze his brother’s shoulder. “You convinced even me to pursue love above all else. I almost let our plans fail in order to let myself have the faintest idea of happiness with Raquel. Please, listen and do the same.” 

He turned on his heel, leaving Andrés alone to his thoughts. They both knew there was nothing else Sergio could say or do to get him to act. 

He wasn’t sure how long he remained, almost frozen, in that seat as the conversation with Sergio continued to repeat itself in his head. He went back and forth between wondering if he was being unfair to Martín, waiting to express interest until he felt like he was losing Martín, and wondering if he was robbing them both the chance of something that could make them both happy. He wanted to make Martín happy. Martín’s toothy grin and general passion for life warmed him to the core. He had spent the last years trying to keep Martín in his life, when he knew so many others had always walked out on him. 

The light tap on the door broke him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Martín hanging in the doorway. The room was dark, and Andrés realized the sun could have set hours or minutes ago, and he wouldn’t know. 

“Andrés, I’m not interrupting, am I?” Martín’s voice carried a heavy weight of uncertainty, as he glanced around the room, everywhere but at him. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, turn on the light,” Andrés replied, forcing himself to stand up. 

“You left dinner in a rush, I thought you’d be back after you treated your hand,” he said, slowly closing the door with both of his hands. He still seemed so hesitant, and Andrés wished that there wasn’t this sudden depressing tension between the two of them. “Are you alright?” 

Andrés nodded, just watching as Martín stood with his back against the door. His fingers tapped against the bronze doorknob, the obvious jitters making him wonder if he should still back out of their room. He hated that Martín was suddenly so nervous around him. This had never been their dynamic before, and he wanted to put an end to it as quickly as it started. 

But each step he took closer to Martín made his feet feel like they added a pound of lead. Martín stood where he was, patiently but still looking as though he might bolt from the room. As Andrés stepped closer, he looked up at the ceiling. He could feel the tears pooling in his eyes, and his hands folded into small balls at his side. 

“It has occured to me that I might owe you an apology. I have been rather selfish in inserting myself into your relationships, even as I have pursued other women.” 

“Andrés, you’ve never made me do anything I didn’t want to do,” Martín quickly reassured him, moving just an inch away from the door. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach out and grab hold of Andrés. 

“Perhaps not. But, I have been unfair to you. I have hid behind the fact that perhaps I want there to be more between us,” Andrés said with a pause. He wasn’t going to confess these feelings looking at the ceiling. He looked at Martín, coming to a full stop just inches away from him. If he just reached out his hand, he could wrap his fingers around Martín, pull him in tightly. But, then they would never get through this part. 

He looked at Martín, a panic tightening his chest. Martín looked as if he had just seen a ghost, his features flushed pale and eyes wide. Andrés leaned back, wanting to push Martín aside and run out of the room himself.

But the next thing he knew, he felt Martín’s hand pull around the back of his neck, their chests brushing as their lips crashed hard together. Andrés moaned in surprise, his arms relaxing at his sides. Martín continued to kiss him, slow and withdrawn at first, until Andrés pressed him back against the door. Martín deepened it, lightly tugging at the hairs at the back of Andrés’ head. Andrés firmly planted his hands on either side of Martín’s head, taking the opportunity to lean in closer. Any sense of fear or self-doubt that he had struggled had surrendered in the wake of tasting the saltiness of Martín’s lips from the cheap beer he had been drinking earlier. 

If he could live in a moment, it would be this one. 

When they finally pulled away to catch a breath of air, Martín leaned close, his forehead pressed against Andrés’. His hands reached up to cup Andrés’ face gently, smiling brightly as he held him close. “It’s always been you, Andrés,” he assured him, adamantly. “I’d pick you every time.” 

Andrés laughed, brushing his lips softly against Martín’s once more. “I am sorry it took me so long to get to you,” he replied, one of his teeth falling gently on Martín’s lip. His hands moved to relax Martín’s tightly gelled hair. “You’re mine,” he added, staying locked in that moment. 

There would be years to make up for, moments they could’ve been having a long time ago. He would make every single one of them up to Martín once they got back to their house on the island. He would spend the rest of his life making up for lost time, if he had to. He pulled Martín further into their room, fully intending to start with right then and there.

**Author's Note:**

> Go listen to "Good to You" by Marianas Trench. That is the meaning behind the title and I listened to it several times while writing this. :)


End file.
